


At the End of the Day

by sparkzter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Genre-Mixing, Great Depression, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkzter/pseuds/sparkzter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as an amateur witch in the Great Depression is hard. It’s hard and no one understands. </p>
<p>Well, except for your lifelong best friend (and roommate, now that your guardians are gone), Roxy Lalonde. She gets it, too, you suppose, given her family got you interested in the blasphemous “dark arts”, scare quotes and all. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>A fill for HSO 2012's first bonus round. The prompt was Jane<3Roxy, mixing magic realism and the Great Depression era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this after starting a new sleep medication. Filled this as a race against the clock before I fell asleep. Pardon any inconsistencies with grammar/spelling/tense, the pointless fluff, and how silly this is overall.

Life as an amateur witch in the Great Depression is hard. It’s hard and no one understands. 

Well, except for your lifelong best friend (and roommate, now that your guardians are gone), Roxy Lalonde. She gets it, too, you suppose, given her family got you interested in the blasphemous “dark arts”, scare quotes and all. 

People don’t really believe in magic, especially not in your conservative town in Upstate New York. Everyone’s as cold and mean and ruthless as the weather, and everyone knows it! But, they probably don’t know it as well as the resident poor, penniless misfits, such as Roxy and yourself. 

“We’re so fucked, Janey,” Roxy slurs multiple times a week, curled up in a closet-sized room in the pile of ratty old blankets and cushions you mutually call a bed, a chipped mug of vodka in hand. “We get no jobs because we’re inexperienced, and we get no experience because we’re stupid useless young’uns.” 

You remind her that she’s said that before plenty of times, but she never remembers and always denies it. Usually you don’t mind when she’s repetitive and drunk, since she’s usually funny. Lately, she’s just been depressing, and less of a joker than she used to be. It really upsets you. You miss the Roxy that you spent your childhood with, running through the streets and acting like hooligans, pissing off everyone around you with your youthful energy. You’d be told to get lost and go back to your mommies and granddaddies or what-have-you. At least, then, you two did have families to go back to, families that loved and nurtured and took care of you. 

Now, when people scream at you, “Take yer fuckin’ loiterin’ elsewhere! No one wants to watch you spit fire or shit fire or whatever! Doncha have a dyin grandpop to take care of? Stupid girl…” all you want to do is cry. And you do, a lot, in the privacy of your and Roxy’s miniscule home. You cry because you miss Poppop, who died of an untreated fever a couple of years ago. Rose, Roxy’s mother, was murdered only shortly after that, and her killer was never brought to justice. Both of you suspect that it was because Rose was well known as an alchemist. She’s the one that inspired the two of you to start practicing supernatural arts at a young age. Not many took kindly to her craft, and you both are pretty sure that she paid the ultimate price for her liberal views and lifestyle.

Needless to say, whenever oblivious jerks tell you or Roxy to go bother your respective guardians, it really hurts. But your throat closes up and you lose the strength to correct them whenever it happens, so you walk away instead. 

You usually don’t let Roxy see you cry, because that makes her cry, too, and you two have an endless feedback loop of sobbing and unwanted, unproductive feelings. You face away from her and let the tears fall silently after she’s fallen asleep. The surprising benefit of doing this is that, in her sleep, Roxy will hold you and soothe you. She never remembers it the next morning. 

Tonight, you netted a surprising amount of profit from a patron that is in town visiting family. The man said something about being from New York City, where magic was more mainstream, and used for both resources and entertainment. You’re endlessly grateful that he gives you a few dollars for conjuring and manipulating fire, as well as instantly making and heating a pastry for him. He seemed utterly delighted and happy to help, and said you should make this baking thing into a career. 

You’d consider it, but you know you’d be shit out of luck in this town. Everyone knows your trick, everyone knows your gimmick, and no one wants to support it, nor acknowledge it exists to your face. 

With those few dollars, you bring home some bread and cheese, as well as a pint of coconut rum for Roxy. 

“Ooooh, look at our household’s breadwinner!” Roxy beams when Jane enters their tiny home, bearing the loot. She’s in her usual spot, curled up in the blankets, with something tiny bundled up in her arms. 

“What’s that you’ve got there?” you question, narrowing your eyes at the little bundle. Gosh darn it you really need stronger glasses because these aren’t cutting it anymore. 

“Come here. You gotta look at this baby.” 

You have all sorts of mixed feelings as you come closer and Roxy shows you the tiny, skinny black kitten in her lap. It’s in the middle of a nap, purring lightly in its sleep. You notice sadly that one of its front legs is missing. 

“Oh, Roxy…” You’re stuck between saying, “The poor dear, it’s so cute!” and “We really can’t afford to feed a third mouth.” You settle for neither, hoping your tone will do the talking for you. 

“I know, I know, we’re barely able to keep ourselves alive, but little Frigglish here was about to get beat up by some stupid boys. Instead, I stunned them, kicked their asses, stole some quarters, scooped up the little guy and bolted!” Roxy was clearly excited to re-tell the story to you, but she kept it quiet, not wanting to wake the kitten. “Next thing I knew, six of ‘em were running after me! I had to use some illusionary magic on them to get them to go the other way while I hid. It was fun to practice that, but geez, I’m pooped!” 

“You really are untamable, Roxy,” you sigh, shaking your head, the fondness in your voice unmistakable. You feel warm as you say that, though—warmer than you do in any other situations. Talking to Roxy while she’s sober, acting like her old self again… it reminds you of the fact that you love her so, so dearly. 

“And I know you’re gonna make it a Thing that we can’t feed him, but just hear me out,” Roxy continues, stroking Frigglish’s soft fur absently as she whispers. “I’m gonna quit drinking so we can pay for him.” In response to your mouth going slack in shock, she giggles. “I know, I know, it’ll be hell for both of us, I’m sure. But it’s worth it to keep someone else alive.”

“Golly, what am I gonna do with this fancy coconut rum I got you, then?” you smirk, waving the little glass pint in front of her. She frowns, clearly fighting the urge to take it and chug, then shakes her head. 

“Nah. Sell it back. Or use it for your baking. It can live somewhere other than my metabolism.”

“You’re really serious about this,” you say, setting the rum down next to you. It’s been so long since Roxy was sober. The Depression was very hard on her, and her mother’s death only increased her alcoholism. 

“Think of it this way… this is the kid that we’ll never have. That’s how I feel about him, even with our short time together. I really hope you can come to feel the same way.” 

You can’t restrain yourself, now. You kneel down in front of her, leaning forward and give her a sweet, deep kiss on the lips. You’re careful not to disturb the little black lump of cat in her lap, and she is just as delicate in her response to you. For a moment, the world feels like it slows to a halt. All you’re aware of is your tender kisses, the blossoming warmth overtaking your entire body, and your powerful love—romantic, platonic, all of it, you don’t care—for your best and only friend. 

You eventually pull away, face burning red. You two are suddenly distracted by Frigglish who has woken up and is squeaking out a tiny meow at you. His pale blue saucer eyes gaze up at you, as if he knows exactly who you are and already adores you.

“Oh. Oh my.” You gasp. 

“Now you see why it didn’t take me long to fall for the little guy!” Roxy laughs, passing him to you. 

As you hold him in your arms, both of you giggling about his various cute kitten antics, you replay Roxy’s words in your head over and over again. You decide that, without a doubt, you’re more than okay to have a little family with Roxy, with Frigglish as your first child. 

Watch out, world, you think. You don’t care about the fact that it hates you both for being poor magicians. You don’t care that it hates you both for being two faggots that are hopelessly in love with one another. The fact of the matter is that you keep each other alive. And right now, both of you are a lot happier than everyone else in Upstate New York, and even the entire darn country!

You enjoy your dinner and quality cuddle time with your family throughout the night. You end the night falling into a pleasant sleep, with Roxy spooning against your back and Frigglish curled up on your waists. You take pleasure knowing that this is the first night in a long, long time that you haven’t shed a single tear.


End file.
